


never grow up (again)

by prodigalDaughter



Category: The Path (Video Game)
Genre: Coming of Age, F/F, Gen, Social Isolation, Spacey Wolf-Encounter Oneshot, also I had to give GiW a name so I hope you don't mind, also the violence isn't THAT graphic but just to be safe, kids doing reckless things, underage tag because she's thirteen but they only kiss very chastely, which you could technically read as a stand alone short story if you haven't played the game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prodigalDaughter/pseuds/prodigalDaughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginger came to the forest for adventure, for freedom, and for Bianca.</p>
            </blockquote>





	never grow up (again)

Through the chain-link fence, back and forth went the cable lock for her bike. Ginger’s mum told her she should ride it the whole way if she was going to take it at all; get to Grandmother’s that much faster. She didn’t want to, though. It ran smooth enough on the dirt path, but the minute she veered off into the underbrush it would trip up and be useless. Ginger knew she’d head into the underbrush, and farther. 

So she locked it up at the outskirts of the woods, before the road went from asphalt to dirt, gave it a friendly kick to the back tyre, and headed out. The road felt good under her callused feet, baked by the sun, slowly cooling as she headed into the dusty dark shadowed by trees. It was less than twenty paces before she turned and strode into the woods. 

Bread and wine in her backpack could wait. Grandmother never seemed to really appreciate Ginger’s presence anyway; she’d lie there and ask her about school, about boys, telling her she was becoming a woman now, which Ginger couldn’t abide. Oh, she was so pretty, oh, she was going to be such a heartbreaker with those big eyes, oh, she should appreciate her skin while it was youthfully clear and smooth. 

Ginger trooped farther into the forest, as though its thick undergrowth could mute the memory of her grandmother’s teasing that rung in her ears. Just in the distance, through the mist, she could see something big and blocky; not a tree but a building. Heading that way, Ginger the great explorer tromped through moss and bushes, clambering into trees where the ground was unstable, glad of the feeling of bark under her hands and dirt under her feet. 

A campsite arose from the mist; seemingly abandoned, though the tents still stood firm. A shed, twice Ginger’s height, was the landmark she’d seen, and she approached it with full intent to break it open. “Ok. Stuff. In the shack. Let’s get it! And light that fire, comrades! We’re staying the night.” 

Empty words spoken to no one. Though Grandma wouldn’t know to tell on her for not showing up— and Ginger could eat the bread and pour out the wine— she didn’t exactly have comrades these days. All the girls her age were bores, now. Once upon a time she’d been a captain, she’d ruled over the playground and when she’d laughed in pride the other girls had followed suit. She’d climbed to the top of the monkey-bars and they’d tried it too, just to be up there with Ginger the Great. She’d held her hands for them and helped, and when they made it up she mirrored their exhausted grins. 

She’d had a world of thrilled comrades, once. A world where her energy and her power made her a wonder, made her a leader, made her admirable. Now they ignored her, when they weren’t snickering at her. Poor Ginger thought she was a boy, so she’d never get one. She didn’t think she was a boy, and she didn’t want one either, but when she’d yelled she’d been called to the counselor, so she couldn’t even release her infuriated energy at school anymore. Not beyond a few growled insults, a dramatic dye job, and a few loud sniffs and flowerpot-aimed spits. 

Those other girls were what Grandma wanted, and Ginger hated it. In the forest, she could be an adventurer, she could be herself, not caring about boys or girls or mum on Grandma. It was just her, and the woods, and the one comrade she had left. 

There were two tents, at the campsite. The small one looked cramped, though. Ginger wondered if she and Bianca could fit in the bigger one together. 

Bianca was a mystery, and Ginger loved it. Bianca with her skin like walnut wood and her big dark eyes, Bianca with her white dress and lively face, Bianca who heard Ginger’s words but talked with her hands unless she really had to use her (low, sweet, honeyed, but unpracticed) voice. She never said anything about home, and Ginger found her in the woods nearly every time she came. She was clean and showered— more so than Ginger, usually— and her dress was always impeccable, but her battered fur-lined boots spoke to the time she spent running and playing in between the trees. 

Ginger sometimes talked louder than usual, in the forest, hoping it would help Bianca find her. Now, she crowed proudly at how easily she broke open the door to the shed, and grumbled her displeasure at there being nothing of interest inside it— some beers, some shoe polish, a canteen, a rolled-up carpet. She sat to light the fire, but before she could pull the matches from her backpack, she heard the unmistakeable rustling of her comrade coming through the bushes, and she stopped to watch her approach. 

Bianca was beside her sooner than she could have expected, dropping down onto the log to sit by her, elbowing her gently in the side. 

“You’ve got a new dress,” Ginger said. “I’ve never seen you in red before.”

[But I’m always _with_ Red,] Bianca signed. Ginger laughed. 

“You’re not with me when I’m not here,” she said. Bianca sighed and nodded, sadly. 

“Missed you too, ya sap,” Ginger said. “Let’s go.”

She got up and offered Bianca her hand, pulling her up from where she sat. They could come back to the campsite when the sun started to go down. Just then, she wanted to explore. 

They didn’t drop hands until Ginger wanted to climb a tree, and even then Bianca stood at the foot of it and waved to her. [Come that way,] she signed once Ginger was looking. [Out along that branch!] 

Ginger, never one to back down from a challenge, crawled out along the broad branch, looking down to watch Bianca grin proudly at her. She kept going even as the branch thinned and started to wave, slowly getting to her feet, arms out to either side to keep her balance. She bounced slowly on the nearly-elastic end of the branch, laughing at the wind whipping through her hair, until the momentum was enough to help her jump to the next tree— but she bungled her footing, scraping her arm on the bark as she fell, down, down—

And into Bianca’s arms, stabilizing her, keeping her from taking the full weight of her fall. 

They stood, eye to eye, for a long moment, Ginger observing the difference in her friend.

“Your eyes,” she said. “They’re darker than usual. Are they okay?”

Bianca pulled back to sign. [Swollen dark with admiration for you, my Ginger.]

Ginger laughed and batted Bianca’s hands away, a warmth in her cheeks. “You dork,” she said. Bianca laughed too, a silent shaking that went through her whole body as she grinned. “Thanks for the catch,” she added. 

[You owe me,] Bianca replied. [I get to lead for a while.]

That seemed fair to Ginger, so she saluted, handing over her captain’s feathers for the time being. Bianca clipped them into the front of her hair and took off at a run, Ginger laughing as she followed her, dipping under branches, leaping over stones. The sun occasionally came through the branches in glittering beams, every fragment of dust or waft of fog in the air lighting up like glass. Ginger watched it catch in Bianca’s thick, beetle-black hair, her pigtails high on her head today, like animal ears. 

A great beam of sun caught the field of flowers, the headless scarecrow standing an useless guard against the flocks of handsome crows that gathered on the electrical lines. Ginger lost track of Bianca for a moment until she was tackled from behind, falling to the grass, smelling the crushed cornflowers beneath her body. 

“I give, I give!” she laughed, rolling onto her back to look up at Bianca, getting to her feet again fast at the teasing look she was given. “It’s a hunt, then, is it?” she asked, and the only answer she got was a grin before Bianca took off running through the field. 

Ginger was after her like a shot, cheeks starting to hurt from how much smiling she’d done today. It was always like that, with Bianca. Her heart pounded in her chest as she followed the red blur of Bianca’s new dress, her little feet padding through the grass, arms pumping, propelling her forward. She started to wheeze but kept on, on, until Bianca stumbled to a stop, laughing so hard she could barely breathe, bracing herself on her knees. She held a hand out, and Ginger took it, falling to the ground with her.

She smelled like dust and grass and cornflowers, like hair and fur and fresh sweat. Her lips were taut in their broad smile, settling into a gentler, tenderer one as she caught her breath. Ginger stared at her thick eyelashes, her dark-swollen eyes as beautiful as they’d ever been. Bianca’s leg rested against Ginger’s, and she was like a furnace where their skins touched. 

Without thinking, Ginger leaned forward to press her lips to hers. Her eyes shut with a flutter, and Bianca’s warm lips trembled against her own. Bianca pressed in further, and with a great rush of warmth in her chest Ginger wondered how long she’d been waiting for this, how she could have possibly not realized this was what she’d been waiting for. 

The moment ended. She pulled back, her eyes opened. Bianca was still smiling.

They lay there in the grass, half-dozing, Bianca’s arm around Ginger’s waist. “You’re so warm,” she whispered. 

[To keep you warm too], Bianca spelled lazily with one hand. Ginger smiled, and her eyes drifted shut again, content until the sun started to go down. 

“We should head back to camp,” she murmured, regretfully. “Or to the path.”

Bianca sat up. [I have a better idea,] she signed. [There’s something I wanted to show you.]

Ginger followed her, the side of her shirt chilling her where it was damp from the ground. They headed south, so far as she could guess from the setting sun’s general direction, obscured by trees. The oncoming night felt surreal, elevated; she was suddenly sure she couldn’t have found the way home if she’d tried. The mist had started to settle into the dirt, and it stuck wetly between her toes. Bianca’s boots bore her surely between the trees, with quick, excited steps. 

Looming above them, emerging suddenly from the dark, was a chain link fence. Ginger had never seen one within the forest, before; somehow it was much more of a human intrusion than the occasional boot or bathtub or old bottle. She trailed her hand along it, fascinated, until she came to a sign: _Private Property; Keep Out._

“It’s probably a government facility,” she whispered. “What do you think they have in there? Aliens? Experiments? Secret labs? Fairies?”

Bianca was grinning, and once Ginger looked she started signing so fast she could barely follow it. [I found it the other night, with green light flashing far past the fence,] she said, [but you know I can’t climb like you. There could be anything in there, Ginger, there could be monsters or mind control or the secret to immortality! I know you can do it, Ginger. I know you can get in. For adventure, for the right to know— for me, Ginger.]

Ginger beamed too, the excitement prickling through her shoulders, up her spine. She looked up at the expanse of the fence. It had to be twenty feet high, several lines of barbed wire near the top, another coil of the stuff resting right at the crown. Worry started to pull at her gut and she turned to look at Bianca, at her excited, encouraging face. 

At least it looked sturdy enough. She could do this. She could do this for Bianca. And what wonders they’d find! They’d be in the newspaper, the wonder kids of the forest, the ones that cracked the conspiracy, made the discovery of the century— that would show the girls at school, wouldn’t it? She didn’t need them. All she needed was herself and Bianca. 

Her strong little fingers wound into the wire, her muddy toes finding purchase lower down. As she hoisted herself up, it started to bite into her, but not too bad; barely worse than the bark of a tree ever did. Glancing behind her, she saw that thrilled, white-toothed smile, and pulled herself another Ginger-length into the air. The crows were crying, sitting in the branches of the trees, not a one going near the fence. 

Stronger than the crows, Ginger thought. Braver than the beasts of the forest. 

Higher she went, until she could hardly see the ground in the burgeoning dark. Her arms ached and her toes pinched, but she pulled herself up again and again, groaning with effort. She was higher than the lowest lines of barbed wire, now, and they floated behind her, a good two feet removed from the fence itself, strung on their own. She ducked her head to get past the next strand, muscles shaking from effort, and paused, trying to strategize as to how she’d get past the coil. 

If she lifted herself up high enough, she thought, until she was almost standing near the top of the fence, she could step right over it— by spreading her legs wide enough, she could take a deep stride that would carry her safely to the other side. It was all downhill from here, almost. Once she was over the hump, it would be easy. 

She pulled herself as high as she could, hearing the crows’ cries as Bianca’s encouragement, as the shouts she couldn’t herself provide. She thanked the noble crows, for carrying the message. Bianca was counting on her. She could do this. 

Carefully, she tried to stand, not sure where to put her hands. They were smaller than an adult’s, and maybe, she thought, she could grab onto the wicked wire itself, between the barbs, and use her very adversary to pull herself higher. Carefully she settled her little fist between the thorns, using it only for balance as she stood. Once she’d leapt, she would be home free. She shifted her balance in preparation for the leap, holding tight to the wires. 

They broke free, sending her plummeting. A sharp pain tore through her as she hit each line of barbed wire she’d bypassed before, bringing them down with her, cutting into her calves, her thighs, the back of her neck. She was already half-unconscious before she even hit the ground, red splotches filling her vision, everything filling with harsh static. 

When she hit, the impact of the ground drove the barbs deeper into her skin, and she felt the blood trickling from her many wounds. She was bruised, she was broken, she was cut open, and worst of all, she had disappointed Bianca— but when she saw that face hovering over her, she looked proud. She looked pleased. She bundled Ginger up into her arms, her blood smearing onto her dark skin and disappearing into the red of her dress. Her hands clutched at Ginger’s shoulders, tight enough to bruise. 

With her near-last breath, Ginger whispered “Your hands are strong… stronger than I remember.”

“The better to hold you with,” whispered the Girl in Red, “when you fall.”

**Author's Note:**

> This... isn't even my be-all and end-all interpretation of Ginger's path, it's just a possibility that I thought made a good story. Sleep well.


End file.
